Caution to the Wind (25 page)

She settled herself in the hard wooden chair, a foolish rabbit without the sense to flee.

Amanda closed her eyes and attempted sleep, but she couldn’t shut out the sounds about her, the glide of cloth over bare skin, the trickle of water returning to the bowl, the small groans of exertion as he tried to reach places on his back that she longed to scrub for him. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

Every fiber in her body hummed to his presence and the intimacy of being alone with him. Perhaps he had been right about not being alone together. However, it wasn’t her reputation that concerned her. It was her sanity.

He didn’t invite you here so you could try to seduce you him.

Over and over, she repeated the reasoning to herself until it became like a mantra. His invitation might mean they were on the path toward an understanding, but nothing more. That he could be comfortable with her in his quarters all night meant he thought of her as his subordinate, nothing more.

She tugged at the bindings on her chest, wishing she might at least loosen them. They chafed at her delicate skin, but she had grown to hate them for what they represented more than the discomfort she had to endure. If he saw her as less than a woman, the fault lay with her, not with him.

Amanda was still arguing with herself when she finally found a comfortable position on the little chair. Fatigue overtook her, the refrain repeating as she drifted off.

He didn’t invite you here so you could try to seduce you him...could try to seduce him...try to seduce him.

****

Will drank the entire second pot of coffee, but got no work done. Amanda talked in her sleep, and although he couldn’t make out the words, the way she tugged at her clothing and laughed suggested her dreams were interesting ones. Much of the time, he sat gazing at her and entertaining himself by trying to deduce what enticing visions could cause such sensuous sighs and moans.

When her breathing at last slowed and he thought he might be able to move her without disturbing her slumber, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his hammock. As soon as he laid her down, Amanda gave a breathy sigh and snuggled into his pillow.

“What am I going to do with you?” Will smoothed her blonde curls from her brow.

Amanda smiled in her sleep as though his confusion pleased her.

Somewhere over the last few weeks, he had lost all desire to get her off his ship. He hadn’t realized that until Miss Bowersley offered the perfect opportunity, but the thought of being without Amanda overwhelmed him with a gut-wrenching sense of loneliness. He couldn’t imagine life without her.

But if he allowed her to remain on his ship, how would he keep her safe? How would it affect his crew’s morale? His ability to command?

It had been nerve wracking keeping her identity a secret from everyone but the doctor. No matter how well Amanda covered her soft curves with men’s clothing, everything she said and did appeared delightfully feminine. It would only be a matter of time before others discovered her secret.

The first ray of dawn stabbed through the darkness in the cabin, haloing Amanda’s blond curls with an angelic glow. Will knelt down and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“Amanda, I surrender,” he whispered.

Come what may, he needed her by his side and would not let her go. The rising sun warming Will’s cheek, he tucked his quilt beneath Amanda’s chin. They would begin anew today.

Chapter Nineteen

Amanda arranged the captain’s breakfast on a tray, positioning an array of orange wedges until they resembled a flower. The oranges had been a gift from the English merchant, a thank you for her culinary efforts. She suspected they might also be an apology intended for Captain Stoakes, since he had assumed the responsibility for their “cargo.”

She hadn’t seen the captain yet today, and she found his absence unsettling. Last night, he allowed her to remain in his quarters in order to keep them both safe from the machinations of a clever young woman.

Amanda gave a soft laugh. If anything, the captain had been in far more danger than she had, and he knew it. She had given the situation considerable thought this morning, wondering why he hadn’t suggested she simply go back to her own hammock. The doctor would have made sure Miss Bowersley didn’t molest her in her sleep. However, that arrangement would have left Captain Stoakes alone and unguarded.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if it went deeper than that. Perhaps sleeping in his hammock had given her the illusion of intimacy. Although he had not shared his bedding with her, she had awoken, surrounded by his heady masculine scent almost as if he had lain next to her. Not possible, she concluded, since his hammock was only slightly wider than those used by the men. If two people shared his hammock, their weight would have brought them both rolling toward the middle and they would have had to curl around each other like two pieces of a puzzle.

The image made her cheeks heat, and she fanned herself with the captain’s linen napkin until the flames receded. He hadn’t been curled around her when she awoke. Disappointment stabbed at her, and she reminded herself she had no right to feel that way.

She set the linen napkin on the tray and made a few last minute adjustments to the arrangement before carrying it out the door.

Walking into the common area, she remembered how anxious she had been leaving the captain’s quarters this morning. The impending shift change meant the common area would be crowded with men from the morning shift eating the breakfast of milled oats that Cookie prepared in vast kettles. She had considered waiting a half hour or so until they finished. After that, the much smaller night watch would be preparing for bed. But if she did that, she would be late with the captain’s breakfast. Or worst case, Cookie might take it upon himself to try his hand at the captain’s eggs again. Amanda flinched just thinking about it.

When she finally mustered enough courage to step into the common area, a few of the men had greeted her with their usual smiles, but none seemed to think it odd that she should emerge from the captain’s quarters so early in the morning. Perhaps they thought she had just brought him his breakfast.

Luckily, only the night shift remained in the common area to see her bring this tray to the captain, and most of them lay snoring in their hammocks.

Amanda balanced the tray in one hand and rapped on Captain Stoakes’s door with her knuckles. When no answer came, she pushed the door open and peeked in.

“Your breakfast, Captain,” she said to the empty room, before setting the tray on the desk.

The overwhelming desire to see him kept her from leaving. Maybe if she waited around a bit, he might return. She folded his bedding and laid it at the end of the hammock. Brushing off the velvet coat that lay slung across the back of the chair, she hung it in his wardrobe. Then she picked up his chipped ceramic stein and peered in, appalled at what looked like months of coffee stains. He could at least let her wash it for him. She tucked it in the pocket of her apron.

She busied herself stacking his papers in neat piles on his desk, picking up those that had dropped to the floor. Most of the papers were charts showing the outlines of various ports along the American coastline, but another showed the coast of England surrounding Portsmouth. There were even charts of the French coast. One in particular showed very detailed if somewhat aged looking sketches of the inlets and harbors around the area of held various missives from contacts whose names she had never heard of, sharing their opinions on the progress of the war. Most were dire predictions, but a few held out hope the King of France would send aid soon. Although the allusions to funds were veiled, it seemed the French were already supplying money. Now these men wanted ships.

Guilt gnawing at her, she perused the letters. She wasn’t truly prying. She couldn’t help it if she happened to see some of the words while tidying his desk.

…
countryside northwest of Baltimore…

Her hand stilled over the scripted words that jutted from beneath a weighty pile of less interesting correspondence.

Her farm was less than half a day’s ride northwest of Baltimore. Had the captain been inquiring on her behalf?

She pulled the letter from beneath the pile. The writer noted there had been no reports of violence from that area. The farmers had been particularly hard hit by the needs of the armies, but most still managed to survive. A man suspected of being a Tory sympathizer had been ill-treated in the local village, but he fled before the villagers could do any real damage. They satisfied themselves by burning his home to its foundation.

Amanda skimmed the next few paragraphs, then turned the page over and read through to the end, hoping the writer might give the name of the village. Why would the captain’s correspondent bother giving such a thorough report of a sparsely populated area? It held nothing more than a collection of farming villages nestled in the rolling hills. Could it have been mere coincidence that her farm lay not far outside one of those villages? Or had the captain been looking into the feasibility of returning her to her home? Hand trembling, she flipped the letter over, looking for a date.

July 1st, less than two weeks ago. That meant the letter had probably been delivered sometime during the last couple of days. Of course, despite its recent date, that didn’t mean the request from the captain had been recent, nor that he had made the request at all. The letter writer might simply have been giving a report on the area he had most recently passed through. Even if responding to a special request from the captain, it might have been one made months ago, before he had deemed her
indispensable
.

Determined not to jump to any conclusions until she had a private word with the captain, Amanda returned to the galley. When she came back an hour or so later to pick up his dishes, his plates were empty, but the man had disappeared again. Was he avoiding her?

Amanda piled his plates on the tray and carried them back to the galley. After drying the last of the dishes, she spent the rest of the morning in her half of the doctor’s quarters, lying in her hammock and pondering the letter. She tried to close her eyes and get some sleep before she needed to start dinner, but images of her farm looking forlorn and abandoned in the morning mist alternated with visions of the captain washing at the basin, his bronze skin and golden eyes glistening in the lamp light.

Giving up on the idea of a nap, she went above deck hoping to get a breath of fresh air to help clear her head.

She found Captain Stoakes on deck, inspecting the guns. She smiled in greeting when he glanced her way, but he simply looked her over with an assessing gaze that spoke of a man trying to come to a decision. Amanda walked to the bulwark, determined not to let his presence prevent her enjoyment of the ocean breeze on her flushed cheeks. If he remained on his end of the ship and she on hers, he could avoid her all he liked.

Buck joined her at the bulwark. “Good morning, Adam.”

“Good morning, sir,” She eyed the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the pallid look to his skin.

While she had slept soundly in the captain’s hammock, Buck had undoubtedly had an eventful night trying to keep the determined Miss Bowersley contained in her temporary quarters.

“You don’t sound yourself this morning. Everything all right?” His own voice lacked its usual jovial brightness.

“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Amanda reassured him with a smile. “I’m just weary from last night.”

“Last night? What happened last night that has you so weary?” Buck made a tired effort at a grin.

Amanda turned to study him. If he weren’t such a gentleman, she might think Buck had implied something happened between her and the captain. She gave him a reprimanding scowl, but couldn’t stop a smile from erupting in its place.

“You know I’m talking about Miss Bowersley. Speaking of the little vixen, where is she this morning?” Amanda turned her back to the bulwark and rested her elbows on top. She surveyed the deck. “I expected to find her clinging to the captain, but she is nowhere to be seen. Did you actually manage to keep her confined to quarters?”

“I did.” Buck sounded pleased with himself. “I also managed to get her bundled off with the prize crew at the crack of dawn. She’s headed to North Carolina so she can vex her rich uncle with talk of handsome men in English uniforms. That is, until he manages to find some poor sap willing to marry her.”

Amanda turned back to the sea with a sigh. “I’m sure looks and money go a long way. She will probably be married by her next birthday.”

“Mmmm,” Buck murmured, watching her face.

Amanda ignored his speculative gaze. He did not need to know that her own birthday lurked just around the corner. She pushed the thought away and closed her eyes. She would enjoy the cool morning breeze and the warm sun on her face and leave the melancholy notions for another time.

She wouldn’t mind if Buck decided to leave her in peace. She would love to talk with him, unload her burdens on someone who understood the captain better than anyone, but how could she when he knew only half of the story? She stayed silent, eyes closed for several minutes, expecting to hear Buck’s retreating footsteps at any moment.

Buck didn’t take the hint. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his gaze linger on her face. Somehow, he seemed to know she wanted to talk,
needed
to talk.

Amanda opened her eyes and stared out at the sea. The mid-morning sun glittered on the gentle swells as though the waves were crested with diamonds. Before she had gone to sea, her image of the vast expanse had been limited. She would have described it as a big body of water that lapped against the land. Now, she appreciated the thousand faces the ocean could wear, from the sublimely beautiful to the ferocious and terrifying.

The
Amanda
had been sailing south, presumably to get Miss Bowersley closer to her destination. Now, looking out at the sea from the starboard side of the vessel, the sun crept slowly toward its zenith.